It's Not All About the PR

Saturday marked the anniversary of my first half marathon, and I'm kind of amazed it's only been a year since I made my debut as a distance runner. A lot has changed in the past year: about 1,000 miles have been logged, races of all distances run, personal bests set and all types of offical runner gear acquired to make me feel and look legit. I've had my fair share of strains, pulls and tweaks and endured set-backs, disappointing runs and times when I just wanted to give up. But, there also have been those moments of triumph, like, running in the pouring rain because, well, I had to and lacing up my shoes despite the nagging hamstring pain that would have caused others to quit. Running has instilled in me a sense of responsibility that I've never had before. I am hopelessly devoted to my running plans, so much so that I will make up a quarter of a mile on a later run if I have to short change an earlier run in the week. I like to be precise. And accountable. But, despite my "Type A" approach to running, my training for the Kentucky Derby miniMarathon this year was anything but. You see, after running my first full marathon in early March, I wanted to do anything but run. Not because I was injured or bored; I was just behind on life! I mean, when you take half a weekend day to do a long run every weekend for months, and run 30-40 miles a week with two kids and a husband, things eventually pile up. So, after the full marathon, I tossed aside all running plans and went rogue. I ran when I felt like it and did enough long runs to patch me through to the half this past weekend. When I compare how I approached this same race last year to this year, it's like night and day. This year, I hoped my full marathon training would carry me through. It did. I didn't obsess over the weather like I did last year. In fact, the first time I checked it was two days before. I decided on what to wear the day before whereas last year, I had my outfit selected weeks prior. I have a routine now, whether it be for small races or big ones, of what to do the night before and morning of a race. It's comfortable. Last year, I knew exactly where to expect to see Brad along the course and had fluids prepared for him to hand me. He had t-shirts prepared and signs saying "Run Sarah Run." This year I thought I'd see him sometime around mile 4. It was closer to 5, actually. And the other expected viewing point was mile 10. I never saw him. He never saw me, maybe because he was at mile 11....on the other side of the street....and for a while he thought I was dead until I borrowed a stranger's phone in the "runners' reunite" area and called him. If we had only made a plan! Last year, I crossed the start line nervously thinking, "I can't believe I'm about to run 13.1 miles." This year, I really wasn't thinking about much except getting through the crowd. I was focused. Despite my lack of preparation in comparison to other races, this race that I approached with "no expectations" turned out pretty much as I expected. I didn't PR; missed it by 62 seconds, in fact. But I ran the course 2:15 faster than last year, which I'll take. And, I did that with a hamstring strain at mile 7. I'm not too sore two days out, which is a big improvement over other races. After the St. Jude half marathon, which I ran in December 2011, I was sore from head to toe for an entire week. And, I only ran that at an effort 9 seconds faster per mile than Saturday's race. Just about the only thing in common was the argument Brad and I had the night before about transportation race morning. I get very anxious about traffic, parking, etc. Or, maybe it's just my nerves surfacing in a roundabout way. In general, my entire approach to racing and running has transformed in a year. I believe in myself. When I was a little girl, I always wanted to be good at something. Finally, I am. And, not because of how fast I run, but because I stick with it. I feel like I can call myself a real runner. I'm a marathoner! But there are always new things to be learned, even though my learning curve isn't as steep as a year ago. Here's what this race taught me: * Get to the start line of an 18,000-person race sooner. I missed starting with my pace group because of being late. Well, I wasn't late. I was using the bathroom, which is pretty important, too, especially if you have any clue what my bowels are like on race morning! * Scowl at participants whose bibs say corral "F" but start in corral "B". There is a waved start FOR A REASON! Please, don't start your 16-minute-mile pace when I'm trying to run twice as fast as that. Please. Pretty please. With a cherry on top? * Have a sense of humor, especially when running past a man whose entire rear end is hanging out of his running shorts, which are designed to cover - not show - his backside! * Always encourage runners going the distance. I tried to say "Good Luck" to as many marathoners as I could, especially the women. It's a seriously long distance, people. * Remember to be grateful for my health and ability to run. I passed a woman, on a stretcher, about my age. She was on oxygen being loaded into an ambulance. Her friend was crossing right in front of me as I ran by and I touched her on the shoulder and said, "I hope she's okay." I knew I wasn't going to PR at that point but really didn't care; I was happy to be alive and well. * Soak in the experience as much as possible by giving high fives, waving at the crowds, thanking volunteers, etc. So many people are needed to make races possible. It's like runners are the guests and the spectators and volunteers are the hosts. We should always thank our hosts. * And, to always have fun. That's easy to do. My next big race will be the St. Jude Marathon. I plan on running the full to show I can do it without stopping in eight different porta-potties. That'll take a lot of Imodium. I'll keep my mileage up this summer, enjoy my rogue status a little longer, and then get back on track in August. Until then, happy trails!

5 o'clock somewhere?

Tonight we decided to grill hotdogs, a favorite in our house. Brad ushered the kids outside to the backyard so they could play while he prepared dinner. Our two dogs were already out there, and Jack, who's eldery but never too slow to miss an opportunity to grab food when you're not looking, gobbled up two uncooked hot dogs from the plate Brad had set aside while he was uncovering the grill. I was inside, upstairs putting clothes away. I heard Brad yelling angrily, followed by Jack growling and barking. I flew to the window, unlocked it, lifted it quickly and said, "what happened?" but already had an idea that Jack had nabbed our dinner. Harper was scared and by now was crying. I didn't like the charge in the air, so I went outside and picked up Harper to calm her down and decided to put Jack inside. When I penned him in the laundry room, I looked him square in the eye and said, "Bad dog! BAD dog!" He snarled at me, lips raised, teeth showing. He was angry and didn't like me scolding him. I was mad at him, too, for scaring Harper and eating my dinner. I grabbed a hanger and lifted it wanting to smack him, but I knew better. I knew that wouldn't teach him a lesson. I took a deep breath and instead softened my tone and said, "It's okay, boy. It's okay." Immediately, his body language changed. His head dropped, his tail wagged and his eyes turned buttery soft. I thought, we all could take a lesson from Jack's immediate attitude change. I was shocked that all it took was a different choice and change in my voice to transform Jack's mood in about 1.3 seconds. I alone had the power to produce a differet outcome by making a different choice. Now, I know humans are a little more complex than dogs, but (on a basic behavioral level) are children that much more complex than our canine friends? Exploring this simple comparison and remembering how easily Jack dropped the attitude may help me maintain my sanity when it comes to parenting. Let me preface this by saying I love my children. I love them more than life itself. I don't, not even for a single minute, regret the decision to bring either of them into this world. Not really, even though I often try to remember who I was and what exactly I did with all my time before having children. But, I seriously need to adopt some more effective coping strategies for keeping my cool. Being a stay-at-home mom to two kids under the age of five is, by far, the hardest job I will ever have. Hands down. And, I kind of suck at it. I yell too much. I interfere too much. I'm too bossy and probably a little too strict. I let them watch too much TV and pay too much attention to my "to do" list. The reason I know I'm all of these things is that I see some of the behaviors I don't like in my parenting style come out in them. Monkey see, monkey do, right? Harper yells at Layne, yells at me, yells at Brad. That makes me sad. Or, Layne can't move onto the next thing until things are put away just right. That's my OCD. Okay, maybe that doesn't bother me so much. Point is, I realize who and what I am has a huge influence on the people my children are becoming, and I want to be the best examples to them possible, not the worst. To escape reality, I have friends who stock their fridges with alcohol. Effective. I have friends who regularly ship their kids to grandma's. Smart. Then, I have friends who ship their kids to grandma's and then raid their booze-stocked fridges. Brilliant! Perhaps I can say running helps balance me out. It certainly gives me time and space to let my thoughts distill. However, I need something more, and not just longer runs. Maybe I just need time, time for my kids to grow up and become people I can relate to as individuals with opinions and not just toddlers with poopy diapers and hungry tummies. I like to think that it's just this phase of parenting that is difficult, not parenting in general. There will be other phases of parenting that kick my ass as well (hanging on for the teenage years), but I honestly feel like I'm doing the best I can to be the best mom I know to be and I'm still falling short. I'm exhausted, quite honestly. It brought me to tears tonight when Layne said, "Mom, I wish you weren't mean to us." Or something like that. I don't remember exactly his phrasing, but he implied that I was mean and I remembered thinking, he's a little bit right. And, instead of getting mad at him, I softened, conceded and surrendered - much like I did with Jack. And, I cried a good, long-overdue cry. I don't come close to pretending to have all of the answers when it comes to parenting a 4-year-old and a 2-year-old, especially my 4-year-old and 2-year-old. Never in my life have I met two more independent, obstinate, hard-headed little people in my life. That Harper will give me more gray hairs than everyone else combined in my life! I think the question I have to remember and keep asking myself is, "Is this battle worth having?" I mean, do I always have to be right and have things done my way? Or, could I let it go - release control a bit - and have things go differently but still reach the same destination? There may be a lot less stress involved. For example, do I really need to yell at Layne to get dressed faster in the morning, or could we just be five minutes late to preschool for crying out loud? What I do know is that I'm truly T.I.R.E.D. of how we currently operate and my interraction with Jack tonight taught me that so much power lies with me. I'm much more influential than I think I am. Sometimes I feel like my children run this house, but it really is the other way around. Thank goodness I have a husband who recognizes my struggles, knows my emotional limitations and can step in to my rescue when needed. I excused myself halfway through dinner, appetite lost after the "mommy is mean" comment, and went for a 30-minute walk in my neighborhood. It's something I used to love to do - just take a walk and look at houses, yards and people while listening to music. It refreshed my soul and recharged my battery enough to make it through the rest of the evening. I returned home to some crying, fighting and power struggles over toys once forgotten but now the center of attention and the ONLY toy either could ever imagine playing with ever again. Ever. I tried to let it roll off, like water on a duck's back, because tomorrow it's going to be a long week. I told myself, "It's okay, Mommy. It's okay." And, I felt my tail wag - just a little bit.